


Search My Body For The Scars

by wibblyR



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, M/M, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:17:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3434975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wibblyR/pseuds/wibblyR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I needed to write something after that scene...<br/>Title from Siken's Wishbone</p>
    </blockquote>





	Search My Body For The Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to write something after that scene...  
> Title from Siken's Wishbone

“Will you also follow me to bed?”

Ragnar, so close behind him that he could feel his warmth seeping.

“It would not be the first time, John.”

Athelstan, at the threshold of his room, turns around.

“You’ve been calling me John all day, now stop”, he says, but he’s smiling; his lips are too fond of Ragnar not to.

Ragnar lays his hands on Athelstan’s shoulders, a glint of malice in his eye.

“In bed you are only Athelstan, hm? Do not worry: I follow him too.”

Athelstan leans up into the kiss, then walks backwards into the dark bedroom, dragging Ragnar with him. It is night but the shadows are warm, the flickers of light golden.

Ragnar stays Athelstan when he’s about to fall on the bed, hands big on his waist, blunt fingers digging into the small of his back. With a gentle pressure, Ragnar makes Athelstan sit on the edge of the bed. Athelstan wraps his arms around Ragnar’s neck to kiss him and make him lie on top of him, but Ragnar takes his hands and, after having kissed their palms, puts them on either side of Athelstan.

Ragnar’s fingers creep under Athelstan’s tunic and tug at his breeches. Athelstan shifts and lifts his ass so they can be taken off. The furs are soft on his bare skin, almost tickling.

Ragnar runs callous hands along Athelstan’s legs, squeezing his calves. He lays his head on Athelstan’s knee, his breath ghosting over his inner thigh. His palms rub at the goosebumps.

“Ragnar…”

“It is warm, here.”

Two of Ragnar’s fingers stroke where his breath falls. Athelstan can feel himself rise.

“Take of your shirt”, Ragnar says, “and lie back. Close your eyes.”

Athelstan obeys, shivering, burrowing into the furs to get some warmth back.

Ragnar is holding one of his feet.

“I love the way your feet are dirty and used.”

Ragnar kisses his ankle. Athelstan smiles to the ceiling, wondering what he is up to this time.

Apparently, his lips – and beard – are up to traveling their way up his leg.

“I love the way your muscles have filled in, but you still have knobby knees”, Ragnar mouths at said knee.

He is kneeling between Athelstan’s legs now. Athelstan’s cock leaks precome with anticipation, but he stays still; he feels like he would be disrupting a ritual.

Ragnar’s hands slip under him and hold the cheeks of Athelstan’s ass strongly.

“You know the way I love your ass, but I will still tell you.” Athelstan can almost hear his grin. “I love how it is soft and round in my hand, but firm when it clenches around my cock, which it always welcomes warmly.”

Athelstan bites his lip not to laugh, but his heart is beating fast.

“And I love your prick”, Ragnar says laconically, before taking Athelstan into his mouth.

Tight-lipped, Athelstan makes a low throaty noise and grips the furs. Ragnar sucks him and one of his hands caresses further up to his ribs while the other thumbs at his balls.

“I love the way the shadows dip in your body to show muscle and health and not gauntness”, he says, nuzzling the head of Athelstan’s dick, then licks the vein under.

Athelstan shudders for a very different reason than the cold. It’s when Ragnar introduces two wet and ribbed knuckles into him that Athelstan has to actually move and stifle a moan against his wrist.

Ragnar comes up with a wet pop and gets up, fingers still folding inside Athelstan. He takes Athelstan’s mouth-covering hand.

“I do not love your scars, but I respect them.” He kisses the angry white-red circle on Athelstan’s palm. Athelstan cradles his jaw, then grabs the nape of his neck.

“Ragnar, please… you can continue doing this- whilst fucking me?” Athelstan breathes.

“I love the way your body is eager for mine”, Ragnar whispers against Athelstan’s lips while guiding his cock with his withdrawn fingers.

Athelstan whimpers at the slow entrance, and a roll of Ragnar’s hips makes him arch his back off the bed, the perfect incentive for Ragnar to cover his chest in open-mouthed kisses that lack their usual bite.

Ragnar’s teeth find Athelstan’s throat instead, one hand on his chest and the other bending his leg to have more liberty fucking into Athelstan leisurely.

“I love the way your voice springs from here” – a thumb to the heart – “and climbs in your throat” – a chafing of beard along his Adam’s apple – “and spills from your mouth into mine.”

Athelstan gasps into the rough kiss, closing his eyes more tightly as Ragnar thrusts at a quicker but still deep pace. He’s at a loss for words, but apparently Ragnar isn’t.

“I love your soft skin, and its coarse hairs.” Ragnar closes a fist around Athelstan’s shaft.

Athelstan grabs Ragnar’s biceps and presses his face in the crook of his neck, putting Ragnar’s mouth inches from his ear, which the king uses to murmur hotly:

“I love the way you cry out when you come.”

And so Athelstan does.

Digging his nails in Ragnar’s shoulder blades, he urges him on, clenching around his cock. Ragnar groans, losing his composure to spend himself in Athelstan’s ass.

As always, Ragnar falls on him heavily, but Athelstan can support him now. He catches his breath, relaxing at Ragnar’s kiss to his sweaty forehead. His hair is pushed back as his eyes blink open. Ragnar is smiling fondly down at him.

“I love the way you always wait for me to come before you do”, Athelstan says softly.

Ragnar chuckles and buries his grin in Athelstan’s damp neck, wrapping himself around the former monk’s body to cuddle. Athelstan looks at the warm lights of distant fire dancing on the ceiling as he runs a hand through Ragnar’s newly short hair. He loves the way the ice of Ragnar’s blue eyes melts just for him.


End file.
